


Stop! Wait a Minute (Fill My Cup, Pour Some Liquor In It)

by orphan_account



Series: Lean On [College AU] [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: College AU, Drunk Shenanigans, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jemma came to college, she wanted to stay out of bad girl shenanigans, get good grades, and maybe even make a couple of these "life changing friendships" she's heard so much about in movies. </p><p>She gets two out of three. </p><p>(AKA the one with the horrible mix drinks, red solo cups, fake IDs, frat parties, and impromptu karaoke on the train). </p><p>College AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop! Wait a Minute (Fill My Cup, Pour Some Liquor In It)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr post of little drunk stories (and some of my own college experiences)
> 
> All of these stories take place during their freshman year, but are in no particular chronological order.

[1. Fitz & Jemma]

The first time he meets Jemma is in a crowded dorm room. He’s pretty sure the drink in his hand is a combination of cheap vodka, water, and orange Gatorade. The guy who handed it to him yelled “Faderade!” as he poured it, so he can only assume that his deduction is right. 

He ends up talking to the person who actually lives in the room for most of the evening. She’s a tall blonde named Bobbi, and she is simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. 

“Scotland!” she shouts to him from the other side of the room. “C’mere, you’ve gotta meet my friend!” 

He rolls his eyes at the moniker but pushes through to reach her. A much shorter girl with wide brown doe eyes blinks up at him. He notices that her brown eyes are definitely glassy, but she’s beautiful regardless. 

“Jemma is from England,” Bobbi says, in a horrible imitation of what he presumes she means to be a British accent.” 

“Hi,” he manages to choke out. “I’m Fitz.” 

She smiles at him but then stares at his hand with lazer focus. He looks to Bobbi in concern, but the blonde just shrugs, pats him on the shoulder, and shouts at Faderade guy to pour her a shot. 

Jemma reaches onto the desk that she’s propped up against, picking up a marker and grabbing his hand so quickly that he doesn’t even have time to try to pull it back. Her lips are pouted in concentration as she draws something on his skin and he’s equal parts embarrassed by his racing pulse (which he’s pretty sure she can feel) and curious about what the hell this tiny drunk girl is doing. 

She finally lifts the marker and caps it with a satisfied little grin. He looks down and sees a small picture of an eye drawn there. She meets his eyes, pats her handiwork, and leans in very close to him. He can smell vodka on her breath but somehow it’s not as unpleasant as he would have suspected. 

“Count Olaf,” she whispers. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that was not it. 

She pats his hand one more time and then stumbles off, marker in one hand and plastic cup in the other. 

“What did you think of Jemma?” Bobbi chirps when she finds him again an hour later. 

“She’s…odd,” he says, downing the rest of his drink. Bobbi laughs. 

“She is. She’s cool though.” 

He spots her drawing on some guy’s arm, and a pleasant feeling erupts in his chest as she giggles. Then the guy is whispering into her ear and attempting to lead her from the room. 

“Should I stop that?” Fitz asks Bobbi, nodding toward Jemma. Bobbi’s eyes widen. 

“Oh, uh, yes, please. I’m not sure who the hell that guy is, but she’s probably a bit too drunk for what he’s got in mind.” 

He decides not to point out that she’s slurring, too. He probably is, too. He manages to catch up to them in the hallway near the elevator. 

“Hey, Jemma,” Fitz interrupts. The other guy shoots him an annoyed glare. “Sorry, mate, she’s gotta go to bed.” 

“I can get her to bed.” 

Fitz doesn’t bother to respond, just rolls his eyes and tugs on Jemma. “Where’s your room?” 

She tilts her head to the side, then settles her gaze on his hand. “Count Olaf!” 

“Yes, sure,” he says impatiently. “Your room? Let’s get you home, hm?” 

Turns out she lives in a building halfway across campus. He considers just leaving her to figure it out on her own, but then he imagines what his mother would say and winces at the very thought. She rambles to him about all kinds of nonsense as they wander across campus, and when they get to her room, she realizes she left her purse in Bobbi’s room and doesn’t have her keys. 

Her door swings open and a pretty girl with long brown hair and shining eyes stands in front of them. 

“I think this is yours?” Fitz offers, gesturing toward Jemma. The other girl laughs. 

“I see you’ve met Ms. Bad Girl Shenanigans,” the girl grins. “I’m Skye, Jemma’s roommate.” 

“Fitz,” he nods. “Just wanted to make sure she got home safe.” 

“Skye,” Jemma whispers loudly as the other girl thanks him. “He’s not Fitz. He’s Count Olaf!” 

Fitz lifts his hand, showing her Jemma’s doodle. “She’s dubbed me.” 

Skye throws her head back with a giggle. “Oh man, I shoulda gone with her. Can’t believe I missed that. Well, thanks, Fitz. I’m gonna get Boozy here to bed.” 

“Goodnight, Count.” 

“’Night, Jemma.” 

He runs into her in the dining hall the next morning, and as soon as she meets his eyes, she flushes red. He can’t help but grin at her cheekily, raising his hand toward her with a little nod toward her drawing. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers in mortification as he piles hashbrowns onto his plate. “Skye’s dad was in town so I was hanging out with Bobbi and things got—out of hand.” 

“It’s alright,” he assures her. “Though I’m not quite sure why you had to make me a villain.” 

“Let me buy your breakfast,” Jemma insists. “Or rather, let my parents buy it.” 

She waves her campus card around nervously and he accepts with a smile. That horrible Faderade has left a pounding in his skull, but he enjoys a pleasant breakfast with Jemma anyway.

Turns out she’s just as odd sober. It also turns out he kinda likes it. 

[2. Jemma and Bobbi]

They’re in a sleazy bar, and everything is sticky. Jemma’s plan to stay out of “bad girl shenanigans” had flown out of the window as soon as Skye became her roommate. Jemma supposes it would have happened anyway, if her Biology lab partner Bobbi had any say in it. After her own incident in Bobbi’s dorm room a few weeks ago, Jemma supposes she can’t hold it against the other girl’s drunkenness against her. 

“I’m telling you,” the tall blonde girl slurs, leaning forward into Jemma’s space. “You are definitely not eating enough protein.” 

Jemma laughs lightly. “I assure you, I really am.” 

She waves at the bartender desperately, shaking her empty drink in the other hand. Skye started quite the business, making fake IDs out of their dorm room, but she’s off flirting with Trip somewhere and the rest of the boys they’ve started hanging out with are chucking darts at the board with varying degrees of success. She looks over and meets Fitz’s eyes. He winks at her before he throws the dart in his hand, throwing his arms up in victory as it gets nearer to the bullseye than the others that stick out of it. 

Jemma supposes this would be quite impressive, if the other darts were anywhere near the center at all. 

“Look at you!” Bobbi shouts, grabbing at Jemma’s wrist and wiggling it around wildly. “Like a little stick person, England. You. Need. More. Protein.” 

The bartender slides a gin and tonic over to Jemma with a sympathetic smile and she gives him a grateful glance as she lifts her lips to the straw. Bobbi continues to shake Jemma’s arm like she’s one of those things in front of a car dealership. 

Bobbi’s face suddenly lights up and she reaches for the small container of peanuts in front of them. She grabs her beer in one hand, the peanuts in the other, and takes off toward the booth where their purses are piled up in a corner. 

“Sit,” she demands. 

Jemma sighs and slides into it. Her eyebrows immediately raise as Bobbi holds a peanut up to her mouth, brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Peanut.” 

“Yes, I do see the peanut,” Jemma informs her. She’s trying her best not to be condescending, and she’s not even that sober herself, really. But Drunk Bobbi has a tendency to latch on to one idea at a time and not let go of it (almost the same way that Sober Bobbi does). 

Then the peanut is being pushed into her mouth and Jemma has no choice but to chew it and swallow it. 

Bobbi repeats this process several more times, and she hears the guys stop their game to watch the exchange. Hunter, in particular, seems vastly amused by this. 

“Peanut,” Bobbi says each time she procures a new one. “Peanut. Peanut.” 

When Bobbi seems satisfied with the number of peanuts she’s forced into Jemma’s mouth, she pats her lightly on the head. 

“Thank you,” the blonde whispers, looking rather emotional. “Now my little stick person will grow strong.” 

Jemma laughs warmly and squeezes Bobbi’s hand. “Anything for you, Bob.” 

Hunter slides in beside his girlfriend with a glass of water at the ready, winking at Jemma and placing a kiss on Bobbi’s cheek. Fitz and Mack flank either side of Jemma and she cheers happily when Trip shows up at the table with a tray full of shots and a beaming Skye at his side. 

It might just be the shot of tequila, but Jemma looks at her friends and feels warm all over. 

[3. Jemma & Skye] 

Skye is weakly holding her hair back, hoping that the worst of it is over, when there is a bang on the door over the loud din of the music. 

“Skye?” a familiar British voice asks. 

“Come in, Jemma,” she groans, willing the tears to stop building in her eyes. Her roommate walks in and sits behind her, letting Skye droop into her chest. 

“Oh, poor thing,” Jemma mumbles, running a hand over Skye’s hair. “We’ll get you home soon, yeah? Trip said he’d get us a cab.” 

“I don’t think I can move yet,” Skye moans weakly. “I think the vomiting is over, but if I move it might—might start again.” 

“Then we won’t move yet,” Jemma says simply. 

“I’m so embarrassed,” Skye confesses, voice cracking. “This is exactly how I did not want to start college.” 

“You remember my first drunk weekend here, correct?” Jemma asks. “Because I drew on everyone, named Fitz Count Olaf, and all around made an ass of myself. Besides, everyone here is wasted. Nobody will remember.” 

“Promise?” 

“It’s a frat party, Skye.” 

“Right,” the other girl breathes with a little laugh. “Think you could text someone to bring us some water?” 

“I’ll do it,” Jemma offers, wriggling out from beneath her friend. “There was something else I wanna grab anyway.” 

Skye nods and then another wave of nausea overcomes her. She really should not have let that girl in the flower dress goad her into an ill-conceived chugging contest. 

Something about Jemma leaving causes a whole new wave of irrational emotion to overtake her and she can’t keep the hot tears from pooling over onto her cheeks. Skye weakly brushes at them, sniffling hard as she tries to pull herself together. 

Trip appears in the door, locking it behind him as he kneels down with some water. “Aw, c’mon girl, it’s alright.” 

“Where’s Je—Jemma?” Skye sniffs with halting breath. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment and she self-consciously wipes at her mouth. 

“She said she had ‘some business to take care of’,” Trip tells her. “And that is a direct quote.” 

Skye laughs weakly. “I believe it.” 

He nods, sipping at his own cup of water in companionable silence for several minutes. The door swings open again and Jemma boots Trip out of the bathroom breathlessly. 

“Jemma?” 

The other girl reaches into the front of her shirt and pulls out—a kitten? 

“Where the hell did you get that?” Skye asks around her still-present tears. 

Jemma shrugs. “One of the frat boys had him in his room.” 

“And you know this how?” 

Jemma rolls her eyes. “I was trying to find you some aspirin, Skye.” 

“But you also made out with him, didn’t you?” Skye deadpans, raising her brows at her friend. Jemma coos at the kitten and then gives Skye an amused look. 

“A little bit.” 

Skye’s tears disappear as she rides out the last of her sickness with her roommate and a frat boy’s kitten, splayed out on a sticky floor in a stranger’s house. 

Eventually they put the kitten back where he belongs and pile into a cab with Trip. Skye wakes up in the morning feeling infinitely better, and extraordinarily grateful that a random computer program matched her up with Jemma Simmons. 

She feels even more grateful when Jemma procures a cold bottle of red Gatorade from their mini fridge with a cheery smile. She pulls all the blinds shut, sets up her laptop on the end table, and curls up under Skye’s quilt with her. 

Skye wonders if this is what growing up with a sibling would have been like. 

[4. Jemma & Bobbi & Skye & Hunter] 

Hunter slouches deep into his seat on the train, tugging his beanie over his ears and popping in his ear buds. He resists the urge to close his eyes, recalling the time he’d fallen asleep on a bus and woken up at the depot to a confused bus driver shaking him and asking where the hell he was supposed to be. 

His shift had gone longer than he’d expected, but he supposes that’s what he gets for working at a fancy bar downtown. After nine hours on his feet, grinning at rich people and bantering with women who dig their long fake nails into his arm when he drops their drinks, all of his charm is spent. 

The three giggling girls sitting across from him don’t seem to realize that, though. 

“He’s so cute,” the one with the bangs whispers over to the smallest one. She appraises him and nods firmly. 

“I suppose he is.” 

He’s a little surprised at the familiar accent, but turns the volume up on his iPod regardless. The tall blonde keeps her green eyes trained on him, studying him intently. The other two girls begin chatting about something else, the one with the bangs teasing the British one loudly about a bloke named Fitz. Hunter’s pretty sure they go to his school, and he definitely knows Fitz. Fitz is his buddy Mack’s slightly prickly roommate. 

The blonde suddenly moves across the train car and plucks his earbud out of his ear. “Your eyes are nice.” 

She says it matter-of-factly, and he can definitely smell tequila on her now that she’s so close. Ordinarily, he would flash her his best grin and amp up his accent, but he just doesn’t have it in him. 

“Thanks.” 

He goes to put his headphone back in, but she catches his hand and puts it in her own ear instead. He glances over at her friends and sees that the one with the bangs is giggling with her phone raised in their direction, presumably Snapchatting the encounter to someone. 

“Classic rock,” the blonde hums as she appraises his taste in music. “Shoulda seen that one coming.” 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks. He immediately regrets it; now she’ll want to conversate. 

“Broody Brit, sitting on the midnight train going anywhere,” she smirks. 

He rolls his eyes. “Not how the song goes, but fine.” 

She rolls her own eyes back at him. She’s undeniably beautiful, even through his exhaustion. 

“I’m Bobbi,” she introduces. 

“Lance. I go by Hunter, though.” 

“A man with two first names,” Bobbi hums. “Interesting.” 

Soon, her friends have enticed her back to their side of the train and he gives her a tight-lipped smile as she stumbles back to them. They chat and giggle, and then Bobbi joins the brunette in ganging up on the little British one. 

He’s underestimated the little British one, though, and he recognizes his mistake as soon as her eyes flit over in his direction with a frightening grin on her lips. She pulls out her phone and familiar chords fill the train car. He hadn’t replaced the side of his earbuds that Bobbi had commandeered so he instantly recognizes “Brown Eyed Girl.” 

“You’re right, Bobbi. He does have quite lovely eyes,” the little one smirks. 

Bobbi’s own smile grows huge, and he feels the dread pool in his stomach as both her and the Brit look over at him. They exchange a glance and open their mouths in tandem. 

Oh god. Oh no. 

All three girls begin to sing Brown Eyed Girl at him, loudly and off-key. They’re obviously all drunk, and he buries his face in his hands as more people get on the train at the next stop to witness his embarrassment. Halfway through the song, he pulls out his phone and takes a quick Snapchat of them to send to Fitz. He types a quick little caption (“you know them??”) and then suffers through the rest of their horrifying cover in silence. 

When they reach the stop near the college, he’s not surprised to find out they’re getting off, too. The brunette, who he’s learned is named Skye, grabs onto the Brit (Jemma) and dashes off with her, yanking her up the stares with loud, bubbling laughter. Bobbi strolls at his side, lifting a flask to her mouth and then offering it to him. He nods at her in gratitude and takes a sip. 

“Sorry about that,” she says, not sounding very sorry at all. 

“Y’know, it wasn’t even the worst part of my life,” Hunter tells her honestly. She smiles back and her cheeks are flushed from the tequila and the cold of the air as they come out of the train station. 

Her friends are far up ahead, arms linked and heads leaned close together. 

“So, Hunter, what’s your major?” 

“Photography,” he says. He waches her shiver and he pulls off his beanie, smushing it onto her head. 

“Take a picture?” she asks. He bites his lip, shakes his head a little, but takes a picture of her anyway as she quirks her lips up in a small, enigmatic smile. She snatches his phone as they walk and voices her approval as she taps around on the screen. “You must be a great photographer if you could make me look cute in this hideous hat.” 

“Hey!” he protests. She laughs at him, and he walks her back to her building since Skye and Jemma apparently live elsewhere. 

When he gets back to his room, his phone buzzes with a message. 

[Bobbi:] Hey, Brown Eyed Girl. Put my number in your phone and called myself. Thanks for walking me home. Hope to see you around. 

Mack catches him staring at her photo on his phone the next morning over breakfast. 

“You know Bobbi?” Mack asks, nodding toward the screen. 

“Sorta,” Hunter shrugs. “Why?” 

“She’s pretty cool, man. Kind of a pain in the ass, but she’s a good time.” 

Hunter laughs. “You don’t know how right you are, mate.” 

Then Mack watches Skye’s Snapchat story and laughs loudly as he sees Bobbi invading Hunter’s space on the train. Hunter peeks over his shoulder to watch it and doesn’t even notice the dopey grin on his face until Mack claps him on the back. 

“You’re screwed, my man.” 

Mack has no idea how right he is until much, much later.


End file.
